E 392 



EULOGIUM 




LIFE ANb OFIARACTER 



am, WILLIAM HENE 



JTiitc Ircsibent of the ^Intteb ^tafts, 



.w^ 




BELFVEEED BEFORE 



THE LEGISLATURE OF PE^N^^SYLVAIsriA 



April S4, lS<tl. 






THOMAS WILLIAMS, Esq. 

^tnatot from ailesFjenij ffiountg. 




PITTSBURGH: 

PRINTED BY W. S. HAVEN, CORNER OF WOOD AND THIRD STREETS. 




EULOGIFl 






LIFE AND CHARACTER , ., 



GEK WILLIAM HENRY IIARRISOI, 



DELrfERED BEFORE 



THE LEGISLATURE OF PENNSYLVANIA, 

April 34, 1S41. 



THOMAS WILLIAMS, Esq. 

.Senato;- from Slllrgfjciiji ffiountD. 



PITTSBURGH: 

PRINTED BY W. S. HAVEN, COBNER OE WOOD AND THIKD STREET.. 

V 



■^A^ / 



n '. 



Hall of the House of Representatives of Pennsylvania. 

Hon. Thomas Williams : 

Dear Sir — The undersigned, a joint committee appointed for that purpose 
by the Senate and House of Representatives, respectfully ask the favor of a copy 
of the admirable address delivered by yoa on the 24th instant, on the life, services 
and character of the late President of the United States. 

In common with the rest of their fellow-citizens, and a large crowd of citizens, 
they listened to your eloquent eulogy with unmingled delight, and they trust you 
will cheerfully comply with their wishes for the publication of a discourse of such 
deep and lasting interest. 

Truly, your obedient servants, 

WM. F. JOHNSTON, 
ISAAC MYER, 
R. P. FLENNIKEN, 
E. A. PENNIMAN, 
R. M. BARR, 
Comviittee of House of Representatives. 

, E. KINGSBURY, Jr., 

THOS. E. COCHRAN, 
S. F. HEADLEY, 
AVM. HEISTER, 
WM. B. REED, 

Committee of Senate. 
Harrisburg, April 26, 1841. 



Senate Chamber, April 26, 1841. 
Gentlemen — I am honored by your communication of this morning, on behalf 
of the Senate and House of Representatives, requesting for iDublication a copy of 
the address delivered by me on the 24th instant, before them, on the character 
and services of the late President of the United States. 

I am not insensible to the many imperfections of the performance to which your 
communication refers, and cannot, therefore, but feel how entirely undeserving it 
is of the distinction which the Legislatnre has been pleased to accord to it. Such 
as it is, however, it is the property of those at whose instance it was delivered, 
and if they have deemed it worthy of preservation, it is not for me to refuse my 
assent to that or any other disposition which they may think proper to make of it. 
It is accordingly at their service. 

Allow nie, gentlemen, to add my acknowledgments to you personally, for the 
very flattering terms in which you have executed your commission. 

Very respectfully. 

Your obedient servant, 

THOS. WILLIAMS. 

Wm. F. Johnston, Isaac Myer, R. P. Fleniiiken, E. A. Penniman, R. ]M. Barr, 
E. Kingsbury, Jr., Thos. E. Cochran, Samuel F. Headley, Wm. Heister and W. B. 
Reed, Esqs. composing the joint committee of the Senate and House of Represen- 
tatives. 



EULOGY 



Senatoks and Representatives: 

It is no common task which your partiality has 
assia'ned me. It is no common event which iias assem- 
bled us together. To me belongs not now the grateful 
theme which stirs the public pulse on some high festival 
commemorative of the glorious past. No joyous cere- 
monial — no inaugural fete is this, which has this day 
gathered the representative majesty of the people of 
Pennsylvania wdthin this hall. The emblems of woe are 
around us; a nation is clad in the habiliments of mourn- 
ing, and the voice of wailing and lamentation is heard 
upon every breeze. The head of this great Republic, 
the elect of this mighty people, the idol of a nation's 
hopes, called so recently from his retirement to preside 
over the destinies of this glorious sisterhood of States — 
the soldier, the statesman, the sage, the patriot Harrison 
is no more ! Yes ! the illustrious man, who but yesterday, 
on the steps of the Federal Capitol, under the shadow of 
our national banner, and in the presence of the assembled 
thousands who were congregated together from the re- 
motest extremities of this broad land, to witness the 
sublime spectacle, pronounced the solemn vow of fealty 
to the Constitution, and invoked the Ruler of the Uni- 
verse to attest the sincerity of the pledge which he then 
gave, has already hiid down the high commission with 



6 

which he Avas invested, and with it all the symbols of 
command, and yielding to the summons of Omnipotence 
with the same cheerful submission with which he has 
ever obeyed the calls of duty here, has been translated 
from the scene of his res2:>onsibilities on earth, to the 
scene of a higher responsibility in heaven. The silver 
cord has been loosed ; the tongue which was then el- 
0(|uent of truth is now mute forever, even while its last 
echoes are yet lingering upon the ear; the eye which 
then kindled with the inspirations of an exalted patriot- 
ism, is already sealed in eternal sleej); and the heart 
which then throbbed with the deepest anxiety for a 
nation's welfare is forever at rest. The pageant and the 
procession — the nodding plume — the gallant array — the 
braying of the trumpet, and the trampling of the horse, 
have passed away; the high hope, the animated pulse is 
gone ; the curtain of death has descended over the spirit- 
stirring scene ; the idol of that day — "the cynosure of all 
eyes" — "the observed of all observers" — is already 
gathered to his fathers ; and those Avho swelled his tri- 
umphal cavalcade, as it moved in the direction of the 
Capitol, ha^'e, in one short month, been again summoned 
to follow in silence and sadness, and with downcast eyes, 
the sable hearse which conveyed his mortal remains to 
"the house appointed for all the living." What a 
change is here ! How sudden, how abrupt the transition 
from sunlight to gloom! Who is insensible to its in- 
fluence? AVho hath not realized, in this melancholy 
reverse, the nothingness of all human j^omp — the stern 
and startling admonition which it conveys? Who hath 
not felt the warm current of life turned backward to its 
source, by the earthquake shock which has suspended 
the general pulse of the nation, and hushed even the 
tempest of party into repose? Who hath not been sub- 
dued bv the common calamity which has made us feel 



tliat we are men, and has at the same time reminded us 
that we are the children of a common country, into a 
momentary forgetful ness that he had ever been a party- 
man? Who does not feel that such a loss, at such a 
time, and under such circumstances, is indeed a national 
bereavement? Who does not mourn over it as a national 
calamity ? The venerable man whose loss we so deeply 
deplore, though nominated by a party, became by the 
choice of the nation, and under the forms of our Consti- 
tution, the President of the people. It is not too much 
to say of him, that he possessed the confidence of that 
people in a higher degree perhaps than any individual 
living. It is equally true, that to his long experience, 
his tried integrity, and his exalted patriotism, they 
looked for deliverance from the many embarrassments 
which now surround them. They had the assurance at 
least, in his past life, of inflexible honesty and upright 
intention. Whether his administration of the aftairs of 
this great nation would have realized in all respects the 
high wrought expectations of those who had garnered up 
their hopes in him, is not now the question. It is enough 
that the people trusted him. The loss of such a man in 
any great national extremity, and before he has enjoyed 
the opportunity of testing his adaptation to the wishes 
and Avants of those who have conferred upon him their 
highest honors, is always a public calamity. 

But it is not merely as the head of this great nation 
that we are assembled to pay our solemn tribute of af- 
fection to the memory of the distinguished dead. He 
has other, and earlier, and perhaps higher titles to our 
regard. The last and greatest of your gifts, was not 
merely a payment in advance for services thereafter to 
be rendered. It was richly earned, before it was be- 
stowed. It was but the tardy acknowledgment of a long 
arrear of toils and sacrifices, the crowning reward of a 



8 

protracted and laborious life, expended in the service 
of the country, in the protection of its infant settlements, 
and in the advancement not more of its happiness than 
its renown. The name of Harrison has long adorned 
the brightest pages of our country's history, and those 
who live beyond the mountains will bear me witness 
when I say, that there at least, for more than five and 
twenty years, it has been equally embalmed in story, and 
immortalized in song. The individual who addresses you 
is old enough to remember the time when that name was 
as familiar to the ear of childhood as a nursery tale, for 
often has he heard the western mother hush her infant 
with the ballad of the Prophet's fall, or tell her listening- 
boys that their father or their brethren were out under 
the gallant Harrison on the perilous frontier. Many 
years have elapsed since it was publicly affirmed of him 
by one who has enjoyed a large share of the popular 
honors — a gallant soldier himself, who bears upon his 
body, in numerous scars, the honorable and enduring tes- 
timonials of his own devotion to the country — that "the 
history of the West was Ms history." And what a 
history is that! Surely no pen of ancient chronicle has 
ever told, no fiction of the poet ever framed a tale, wdiich 
will compare in interest with that which records the 
early struggles of the founders and defenders of that 
mighty empire, which has sprung i\]) like enchantment 
upon our western border, and is still stretching its ample 
wing, and j^ouring its living tides in the direction of the 
setting sun. To have been associated with those strug- 
gles so intimately as to have become a part and parcel 
of such a history, were distinction enough to have se- 
cured to any man a deathless name. No conqueror ever 
reposed in a prouder mausoleum than this; no loftier 
monument has ever risen, either at the bidding of ambi- 
tion, or under the affectionate hands of public gratitude. 



9 

to the founder of a dynasty, or the defender of a throne. 
The pyramids of the Egyptian kings themselves shall 
moulder into dust, before the early records of that fair 
and hapi^y realm, or the names of those gallant spirits 
who led their forefathers through the wilderness, shall 
perish from the recollections of that mighty people who 
are now diffusing themseh'es in myriads over its surface, 
and cire destined one day to be multitudinous as the 
stars of heaven. The history of that wondrous realm is 
now the history of the broadest and fairest portion of our 
Union. And so, too, is the wliole life of its defender, 
Harrison. The last few years have given to its tales 
of stirring incident and startling peril, an interest of a 
still broader and more diffusive character, and twined its 
thrilling and romantic narrative of border achievement 
more intimately than ever with the lasting glories of our 
common land. But they have only brought out into 
bolder relief the rich memorials of a most eventful life, 
Avhich lie scattered in bountiful profusion through many 
a page of that narrative. A large portion of that life 
has been already written, and the Muse of History noAv 
stands ready to fling her rainbow tints over its illumi- 
nated close. She has already told how the warrior and 
patriot has lived: she will now tell how the patriot could 
die. I will not encroach on her pro^'ince. Mine is the 
humbler task of delineating, with a hurried hand, the 
mere outline of a long and eventful career, and of point- 
ing out a few of those elevations, swelling most boldly 
above the level of ordinary life, on whose summits the 
sunlight of renown v/ill linger, long after the shadows of 
many generations shall have settled upon the plain. 
Bear with me, then, while I endeavor to perform this 
task, and suffer me also to gather, as we proceed, from 
the richly enameled field wliicli lies in shade, an occa- 
sional offering for the fresh grave of the departed chief. 



10 

Half a century ago, a stripling boy of the tender age 
of eigliteen years arriycd in the town where we are now 
assembled, bearing the commission of an Ensign in the 
armies of the United States, and on his way to join the 
gallant but ill-fated St. Clair on the north-western fron- 
tier. There are those lingering amongst us yet, who 
remember the fragile frame, but manly port of that 
chiyalrous boy, avIio, nursed in the lap of affluence and 
elea'ant retinement, had disdained the inulorious remon- 
strances of his elders, and forsaking friends, and family, 
and all the luxurious ease and indolence of home, had 
taken upon himself the soldier's yo\v, and dedicated his 
life to the dangerous service on which he was noAV about 
to enter. That boy was no other than William Henry 
Haerisox, the subject of the present sketch, the future 
Commander of our armies, and the future President of 
the United States. The scion of a noble stock, pointing 
for his pedigree to the imperishable charter of our inde- 
pendence — a broader and a prouder patent than the 
hand of a crowned monarch ever gave — and numbering 
amongst his kindred many of the most distinguished 
men of the Revolution, but without any other patrimony 
than his own good sword, a linished education, and an 
immortal name, he had just abandoned the study of a 
peaceful profession, for wliich he liad been carefully pre- 
pared, and was now on his way to seek his fortune in the 
western wilderness. The ardor and determination Avhich 
animated the boy may be inferred from an anecdote 
which is related of him by one of his earliest biographers. 
He had just been dispatched by his father to the city of 
Philadelphia, for the purpose of })ursuing his studies 
under the direction of the best medical professors of the 
da}", and had been placed by him under the immediate 
guardianship of the celebrated Robert Morris. The 
death of that parent, wliich occurred whilst he was on his 



11 

journey, and was soon after followed by the information 
that his estate had been greatly dilapidated by his ser- 
vices and sacrifices in the war of the Ilo^'olution, left 
him almost entirely without resource. But he was not 
without friends. The son of Benjamin Ilarrisou could 
not want a friciul where the compatriots of his father 
were around him. A lucrative ofUce in the Department 
of State was tendered to him by his kinsman Edmund 
Randolph, tlien acting Secretary, which he declined. 
His high spirit would not stoop to eat the bread of de- 
pendence; his ambition was awakened, and his thoughts 
were now turned in another direction. He repaired at 
once to the great chief who had been the friend of his 
father, and was now at the head of the government, and 
solicited a commission in the North- western army. Gen- 
eral Washington hesitated, referred to his extreme youth, 
and drew an animated picture of the hardships and dan- 
gers of the service which he was seeking. The ardor of 
the boy was not to be repressed; the commission was 
promised. The fact was, however, immediately commu- 
nicated by Washington himself to Robert Morris, and 
no sooner known to the latter, than a messenger was 
dispatched at once in jmrsuit of his wayward ward, with 
an intimation that he desired to see him. Youno- Har- 
Risozs^ suspecting the object, flew immediately to the 
War office, took out his commission, subscribed the ne- 
cessary oaths, and then appeared before his guardian, 
when he was assured that constraint and remonstrance 
would be alike unavailing. He was now the soldier of 
the Republic, and it was with that commission in his 
pocket that he had set out to join the North-western army. 
The hazards of that enterprise can scarcely be appre- 
ciated at the present day. At the period of which I 
speak, the Avhole of that vast region west of the Ohio, 
which now composes the great states of Ohio, Indiana, 



12 

Illinois, Missouri and Michigan, and comprises witliin 
its limits a population ecpial to that of the old thirteen 
during the war of the Revolution, was nothing but one 
vast, unbroken, howling wilderness, tenanted only by 
wild beasts or still wilder men, and sleeping in the uni- 
versal silence which had brooded over it since the 
creation. From Pittsburgh west, far, far beyond the 
mountain cradle of "the father of waters'' — beyond even 
the sources of Missouri's mighty flood — throughout an 
untraveled and almost illimitable wild, over which scarce 
any thing living, save the wing of the adventurous eagle, 
had ever swept — all was original, undisturbed, magniti- 
cent wilderness — the domain of nature — the dwelling 
place of the savage. The beautiful Ohio, whose bosom 
is now freighted with the commerce of thirteen states, 
whose waters are now plowed by a thousand animated 
keels instinct with elemental life, and whose margin is 
noAV dotted with hamlets and towns and cities, then 
traveled onward in its long and silent journey, gathering 
the redundant tribute of its thousand rills, with no sound, 
no life to disturb its glassy repose, save the plash of the 
occasional canoe which darted across its surface, the rip- 
ple of the solitary pirogue which dropped lazily down its 
current — or mayhap the report of the sa^'age rifle from 
some sheltered covert on its banks, which awoke its un- 
accustomed echoes, startled the wild fowl screaming from 
its bosom, and told the fate of some hapless adventurer, 
who had embarked his fortunes on its smooth but treach- 
erous tide. The whole frontier extending eastward even 
into our own state, was then the theatre of border war. 
Already one gallant army had perished in the vain at- 
tempt to hunt the ruthless red man back into his forest 
haunts. The savage tribes, animated by their partial 
success, maddened by the encroachments of the white 
man, and stimulated into unusual ferocity by the lar- 



13 

ocsses of Great Britain, were unloosed from their forests, 
and pouring down like wolves upon the settlements, 
while the thirsty tomahawk and the unsparing scalping 
knife were drinking deeply of the blood of our i)cople. 
The whole frontier vras in flames. At the dead hour of 
midnight the repose of the settler was broken by the ap- 
palling war-whoop, and if he ventured from home during 
the dav, it was most probably to tind on his return, that 
his dwelling was in ashes, and his hearth-stone red with 
the blood of his children. 

It was under such circumstances that William 
Henry Hareison first volunteered his life in the defense 
of the countrv. It was on such a held, where so few lau- 
rels were to be gathered — it was on such a service, from 
which the stoutest soldier might well have shrunk, that 
this gallant boy had just adventured. A second army 
had been dispatched to chastise the insolence of the 
savage, under General St. Clair, and it was for the pur- 
pose of enrolling himself under the banners of that 
comuiander, that he was now hastening with all the ardor 
of a bridegroom in the direction of the Ohio. It was not, 
however, his fortune to reach the place of his destination 
until a few days after the disastrous defeat which that 
officer had sustained near the Miami villages. Instead, 
therefore, of a well appointed army, full of hope, and 
panting for the conflict, he was doomed to meet the 
shattered, bleeding and retreating remnant of a gallant 
host, which had just left the bones of many a brave com- 
panion to bleach unburied in the deep solitudes of the 
pathless wilderness. The destruction of this ill-fated 
band had cast a deeper shadow than ever over the for- 
tunes of the West. For a young and ardent soldier, th^^ 
prospect was indeed gloomy beyond description. The 
maintenance and defense of a long line of posts had de- 
volved upon the slender remains of this broken army. 



14 

Again did tlie remonstrances of his friends assail the 
youthful Harrison. Again was he reminded of the 
toils and perils to which he Avas exposed, and again was 
he urged, in the strong language of entreaty as well as 
expostulation, to abandon a service to which his slender 
frame and delicate constitution were supposed to be un- 
equal. JN^othing daunted, however, by the appalling 
picture wdiicli was presented to him, and feeling that lie 
had i^ledged his honor as well as his life, to abide the 
issue, he turned a deaf ear alike to the suggestions of 
indolence, and the importunities of friendship, and being- 
soon after detailed upon a difficult and dangerous service, 
he acquitted himself with so much satisfaction, as to 
receive the public thanks of his commander. In the 
year following he was promoted to the rank of a Lieu- 
tenant. 

In the mean time, however, the war had assumed so 
formidable an aspect, that it l)ecame necessary to take 
more decided and yigorous measures for its suppression. 
A new army was ordered to be raised, and the discrimi- 
nating eve of (ieneral Wasliini2-ton at once sino-led out a 
distinguished officer of the devolution — the hero of 
Stony Point — the intrepid and impetuous Wayne — as the 
man best fitted to arrest the encroachments of the savage, 
and to carry the terror of our arms into his forest fast- 
nesses. Xor w^as the sagacity of the President disap- 
pointed in the result Dearly, indeed, did he avenge the 
disasters of Harmar and St. Clair — dearly, indeed, did he 
l^ay back the debt of blood which had been incurred on 
the frontier — so dearh^, that for many a long year the 
very name of Mad Anthony — as he was familiarly styled 
— was a terror throughout all the tribes of the North- 
west. But he had an army to organize, as well as to disci- 
pline. ]\Iost of the exj^erienced officers who served under 
St. Clair had either fallen in l)attle, or surrendered their 



15 

commissions; and no sooner had his eagle eye fallen 
u])on our young subaltern, who joined him at Fort 
Washington (now Cincinnati), in the month of June, 
1793, than recognizing in him a spirit kindred to his 
own, he grappled him to his side, and raised him, at the 
age of twenty, to the honorable rank of his second Aid. 
In sucli a school he could not be long inactive. The 
army soon after marched in the direction of Greenville, 
where they were oldiged to go into winter quarters, and 
on the opening of the campaign in the next following 
year, they roused the savage from his lair, and drove 
him before them until they brought him to bay on the 
20th day of August, near the Rapids of the Miami. The 
contest was a fearful one, but the star of Mad Anthony 
was in the ascendant, and victory perched, as of old, upon 
his successful banner. The confederate tribes of Indians, 
reinforced l)y their Canadian allies, and more tiian doub- 
ling in number the little band of the American command- 
er, reeled before the shock of his invincible battalions, 
and were driven, with prodigious slaughter, under the 
very guns of a British fort, which had been recently 
erected at that point. The gallantry and good conduct 
of Lieutenant Harrison, avIio had been intrusted with 
the difficult and dangerous task of forming the left wing 
of the American forces in that action, were made the sub- 
ject of the warmest commendation in the dispatches of 
his commander ; and it is no small evidence of merit of 
the very highest order, that the first virgin wreath which 
adorned his youthfid brow, was twined around it by the 
hands of a disciplinarian so stern and rigid as the unbi- 
assed cind uncompromising Wayne. The individual who 
now addresses you, has heard a portion of the details of 
that eventful day, from one vv'ho fell upon that bloody 
field, j)ierced through the lungs by a musket ball, and 
still miraculously survived to bear his personal testimony 



16 

to the unshrinking valor of his young comrade and com- 
panion in arms. He saw his lofty plume dancing along 
the front of the battle — he witnessed him hurrying from 
rank to rank, cheering the faint and rallying those who 
wavered, and he heard the clear tones of his clarion 
voice ringing above the din of the battle, as he commu- 
nicated in every direction the orders of his commander. 

The victory of the Maumee humbled the savage tribes, 
secured the surrender of the frontier posts, and termin- 
ated the war in the treaty of Greenville. Our young ad- 
venturer, then advanced to the rank of a Captain, was 
left by General Wayne in the command of Fort \\ asli- 
ino-ton, where he remained until 1797, when tinding that 
the country no longer required his services in the capac- 
ity of a soldier, he resigned his commission in the army, 
and was immediately thereafter appointed Secretary, and 
ex-officio Lieutenant Governor, of the North-western ter- 
ritory. 

He was not, however, permitted to remain long in 
that position. The admission of that territory to a rep- 
resentation on the floor of Congress, Avas the signal for 
his translation to a different sphere. His extraordinary 
merits, and great personal popularity, indicated him at 
once to the people of that region as the individual who, 
above all others, was best qualitied to represent their 
vast and varied interests, and in obedience to the gene- 
ral voice, he took his seat in the year 1799, as their first 
representative delegate in the councils of the nation. 

The period of his civil service was not less distinguish- 
ed or successfid than his career as a military man. He 
had already rendered the most important aid in conquer- 
ing the fair realm, with whose interests he was now in- 
trusted, from its native lord; he was now about to per- 
fect his title to the gratitude of the \¥est, by con([uering 
it once more from the wild dominion of nature herself. 



17 

by opening up a highway for the emigrant, and peopling 
its vast but unproductive solitudes with a great family of 
freemen. The policy of the general government in re- 
gard to the public lands had been of such a character as 
to retard their settlement and growth, by dividing them 
into tracts of three or four thousand acres only, and thus 
placing them beyond the reach of the poor but meritori- 
ous settlers. The first public act of their new Represen- 
tative was the introduction of a bill to effect a radical 
change of that system, by reducing the amount to three 
hundred and twenty acres. The zeal and ability and 
eloquence of its advocate secured its passage, and the 
principle has been still further extended under subse- 
quent administrations. Its results are before us in the 
teeming population and giant power of the yet infant 
West. Other conquerors have made a desert wdiere 
they found a Paradise, and erected their sceptres over 
unpeopled realms, where the very verdure hbd fled 
from the blasted and bloody heath before the sirocco 
breath of war. It was the boast of Attila, that no 
blade of grass ever grew beneath the fiery hoof of his 
war-horse. It is the glory of Haeriso:^, +hat his far- 
reaching sagacity has "made the solitary places glad," 
unfurled the standard of civilization in the wilderness, and 
founded an empire where he found a solitude. If his 
career had ended here, he would have been richly enti- 
tled to the eternal gratitude of the West. He has lived 
long enough to feel that it remembered the hand which 
had nursed it into strength, and long enough to reign 
with undivided sway over the hearts of its people. 

But his services did not end here. The division of 
the immense district which he represented, and the erec- 
tion of the new territory of Indiana, furnished a fresh 
occasion for the exhibition of that confidence which had 
placed him already in the councils of the nation. The 
3 



18 

choice of the Executive, concurring witli the wishes of 
the people, again invested him with the high functions 
of a Territorial Governor. The region over which he 
w^as now called to preside, extending as it did at one 
time, from the straits of Mackinaw to the gulf of Mexico 
— from the frozen lakes of the North to the orange groves 
of Louisiana — comprised a province such as no Roman 
praetor, no lieutenant of the Ca3sars, had ever governed 
in the proudest days of the Roman empire. The powers 
intrusted to his hands were almost equally unlimited. 
The highest attribute of sovereignty, the enactment of laws 
— the appointment of all officers and magistrates, mili- 
tary as well as civil — the supreme command of the militia 
— the distribution of his extended jurisdiction into coun- 
ties and townships — and the general superintendence of 
the affairs of the Indian tribes — who were restless and 
impatient of restraint, were but a few of the imperial 
prerogatives which were conferred on him. To all these 
vast powers were added by Mr. Jefferson the authority 
of a General Commissioner to treat with the Indian tribes, 
under which he negotiated not less than thirteen impor- 
tant treaties, and effected the surrender of more than 
sixty millions of acres of land by its savage proprietors. 
The manner in which he executed this high trust, larger, 
in many respects, than any which had ever been delega- 
ted to any one man in this country, and therefore ex- 
tremely susceptible of abuse, may be inferred from the 
fact, that the commission which he professed to hold 
only under the will of the people, was renewed from 
time to time at their earnest and unanimous request, by 
Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Madison, until it was merged at 
last in the command of the North-western army. 

But he wielded no idle sceptre. He was the military 
as well as civil head of the territory over which he pre- 
sided, and he had a country to defend as well as to gov- 



19 



ern. The vast region which had been committed to his 
charge was in a great measure a wilderness, with here 
and there only a white inhabitant, but swarming with 
the remnants of many a hostile tribe, smarting under the 
recollection of past conflicts, and ever ready to wreak 
their implacable and undying hate upon the white man, 
by carrying devastation and dismay into the settlements! 
Nor was the border warrior less prompt in repairing such 
injuries, whenever the opportunity occurred to him^ The 
causes of irritation were frequent; the ancient and irre- 
pressible feud between the red and the white man flash- 
ed up into hostilities at every accidental collision, and if 
the incendiary torch descended upon his home, the blood 
of the savage smoked as an expiatory offering over the em- 
bers of the white man's dwelling. To keep down these 
feuds, and to afford full protection to the settler, while 
he practiced entire forbearance and uniform conciliation 
toward the savage, was the delicate and ditficult task 
which was assigned to him by the general i>-overnment. 
He succeeded for a long time in holding the^balance be- 
tween them, and preserving the peace of the settlements, 
without forfeiting the confidence of either, and while he 
secured the affections of the pioneer, his kindness and 
mipartiality propitiated the good will, while his firmness 
and courage overawed the turbulence, and repressed the 
predatory habits of the Indian. 

But the long smothered fire, industriously fed by the 
money and the emissaries of Great Britain, at length 
flamed out into an open rupture. The prospect of\n 
impending outbreak with that country redoubled the ac- 
tivity of its agents, and the dark and portentous cloud 
of savage warfare began to gather and blacken on the 
western horizon. The gigantic plan of a confederation 
of all the north-western tribes for the purpose of re- 
conquering the territory which they had lost, was set on 



20 

foot by a leader of great enterprise and sagacity, and of 
uncommon valor, in the person of the famous Shawan- 
ese chief — the renowned Tecumthe. With him was as- 
sociated a brother of less ability, but of no less distinc- 
tion, and of perhaps more commanding influence, who 
was generally designated by the title of the Prophet, 
because he was so esteemed throughout all the tribes. 
Under the auspices of these two men, the scattered ele- 
ments of discontent and mischief were gathered togeth- 
er at a place of common rendezvous on the Wabash, near 
the mouth of the Tippecanoe, and known afterward by 
the name of the Prophet's towm. 

But the wary eye of the governor w^as upon them, and 
at the tirst symptom of threatened disturbance, arising 
out of the treaty which he had negotiated at Fort W^ayne 
with several of the tribes, in the absence of Tecumthe 
himself, he dispatched a messenger to invite him to a 
conference. The chieftain came, not unattended, as was 
agreed, but with a formidable escort of no less than four 
hundred armed Avarriors in his train. The meaning of 
such an attendance could not be mistaken. But the 
governor was not to be intimidated. He met the sav- 
age chief, and listened with calmness to his complaint. 
No sooner, however, had he replied, than Tecumthe, for 
all answer, fiercely ejaculated, "It is false;" and on the 
instant, as though by some preconcerted signal, his fol- 
lowers started to their feet and brandished their war- 
clubs, Avhile he continued to address them in their own 
language, wdth great rapidity of enunciation and equal 
violence of gesture. The crisis was a fearful one, but 
the self-possession and intrepidity of the governor were 
fully equal to the occasion. Though unattended but by 
a handful of guards, he rose with dignity from his seat 
— cooly drew his sword — rebuked the perfid}^ of the In- 
dian — and ordered him to withdraw at once fi'om the set- 



'21 



tlements. The conference was broken up in confusion, 
and the savages, overawed by the gallant bearing and 
manly determination of the governor, withdrew without 
further disturbance. On the following morning, Tecum- 
the apologized for the affront, and solicited a renewal of 
the conference, which was granted. It took place, but 
without any favorable result, and a few days after its 
termination, the governor, still anxious to conciliate the 
powerful chief, repaired in person to his camp, at- 
tended only by a single interj)reter. The savage was 
suprised. He could not but respect the courage of his 
enem}^, and he received him with kindness and courtesy, 
though without receding from the determination which 
he had previously announced, of disregarding the treaty, 
and maintaining his ancient boundary. The story sheds 
so strong a light upon the character of Harrison, that 
I have felt it to be my duty to give it a place in the pres- 
ent narrative. 

In the meantime, however, the breath of the coming 
tempest, which had been so long gathering on the horizon, 
began to agitate the leaves of the forest, and the low 
muttering of the distant thunder to be heard in the 
settlements. The war-belt — the fiery cross of the red 
man — was passing through the wilderness, and in obe- 
dience to its summons, the warriors of the wilds were 
thronging to the standard of the Shawanese chiefs. The 
indications were now so apparent of a great preconcerted 
movement, and a general rising among the tribes, that 
the governor of Indiana, whose sagacity on such occa- 
sions was never at fault, admonished of the necessity of 
taking earl}^ and vigorous measures for the suppression 
of the evil, was induced to seek, and obtained permission 
from the general government, to break up the encamp- 
ment on the Wabash, which was the general rallying 
point of the disaifected, and where it was understood 



22 



that more than a thousand warriors were already collect- 
ed, and under arms. With a force of about nine hun- 
dred men, composed of the militia of his territory, a 
detachment of regular trooj^s, and a small but gallant 
band of Kentucky volunteers, but with his hands tied 
by a positive instruction to avoid hostilities, except in 
the last resort, he accordingly commenced his march on 
the 20th of October, 1811. His commission was exceed- 
ingly delicate and difficult. His mission was peace; his 
only privilege, in the face of a savage enemy who might 
select his own time and place for an attack, was the 
humble privilege of self-defense, whenever he might be 
assailed. When he arrived within a few miles of the 
Prophet's town, he sent in a flag of truce, in pursuance 
of his instructions, for the purpose of opening a negotia- 
tion for a treaty of peace. The answer of the Prophet 
was friendly. He disclaimed all hostile intention, and 
pledged himself to meet his adversary in council on the 
following day. But Governor Harrison understood 
the Indian character too well to be thrown off his guard 
by protestations such as these. He accordingly halted, 
and placed his camp in a posture of defense. 

The night of the 6th of November was dark and 
cloudy. On that memorable night, a gallant little band 
miu'ht have been seen stretched in fitful and uneasv slum- 
ber, by their watch-fires near the Wabash, under the 
shadow of the ancient but now leafless oaks, which reared 
their giant heads around. Here, in the order of battle, 
and with his arms and accoutrements by his side, lay the 
wearied foot-soldier, with his head pillowed upon his 
knapsack; there, the border knight, endued in all the 
panoply of war, reclined at the feet of his faithful steed ; 
and yonder, tethered to the door post of an humble tent, 
pawed the impatient charger of the chief himself. The 
deep solitude of the forest, which was so lately startled 



23 

bv the armed array, had again subsided into repose. 
T^o sound disturbed the quiet, save the sighing of the 
autumnal wind, as it swept through the arms of the aged 
oaks which canopied their heads, or the occasional chal- 
lenge of the sentinel, as he measured his midnight rounds. 
On a sudden, about the hour of four in the morning, and 
just when the tap of the morning drum was about to 
arouse the sleepers from their repose, a single shot was 
heard, and on the instant the yell of a thousand savages 
rent the quiet air, and the flash of a thousand rifles 
lighted up the deep gloom of the primeval forest. The 
onset was no less terrible than sudden. The savages 
were in their midst, but every soldier was in his place, 
and the assailant and assailed were soon locked in the 
embrace of death. In the twinkling of an eye, the watch- 
ful governor, who had been sitting by his tent-flre con- 
versing with his aids, and waiting the approach of dawn, 
was on horseback, and at the point of danger, and 
throuo-hout the whole of that action was he seen, himself 
the most exposed of all, galloping from point to point, 
wherever the contest waxed fiercest, fortifying the posi- 
tions where the fire was most destructive, and animating 
his troops by his voice as well as by his example. And 
nobly was he seconded by his gallant men. For two 
long hours did the contest rage, for the most part hand 
to hand, throughout the gloom, until the dawn of the 
morning lighted up that field of blood, and enabled the 
American commander, by one simultaneous charge along 
his whole line, to put the enemy to flight. 

The history of our country has furnished the example 
of few fields which have been as stoutly contested as this, 
and it has been remarked by those who were familiar 
wdth the practice of Indian warfare, that on no other 
occasion has the savage been known to exhibit the same 
degree of determined, and desperate, and persevering 



24 



ralur. The «laiigliter on both sides was considerable. 
Many of the bravest of our officers fell. That General 
Harrison himself should have escaped, is almost a mir- 
acle. He was slightly wounded by a ball which passed 
through the rim of his hat, but he bore, like Washington, 
a charmed life, because, like him, he Avas destined for 
higher purposes. 

The result of this action was decisive. The confeder- 
acy of the hostile tribes was dissolved by the disasters of 
this day, and peace and quiet were once more restored 
to the alarmed frontier. The invaluable services of 
Governor Harrison were recognized in the most flat- 
tering; terms bv President Madison, in his next annual 
message to Congress, and his skill and heroism were 
made the theme of special panegyric by the legislatures 
of Kentucky and Indiana, by whom he was publicly 
thanked in the names of their resj^ective constituents. 

The tranquility which followed was, however, of short 
duration. In less than one year after the battle of Tip- 
pecanoe, the long threatened war with Great Britain took 
place. The tribes of the North-west were again in arms, 
straining like greyhounds in the slips, and waiting but 
the signal of their civilized employers, to carry havoc 
and devastation once more into the settlements. The 
whole frontier was almost entirely defenseless. With 
the fall of Detroit, which was soon after invested by the 
British, no barrier would be left to stem the torrent of 
barbarian Avar, except the stout hearts and strong arms 
of the inhabitants. They Avere, hoAvever, ready, as they 
have ever been, for the emergency. All the}^ desired 
was a leader of approved courage and undoubted skill, 
and CA^ery eye Avas turned at once upon the successful 
soldier, Avho had so recently humbled the pride, and bro- 
ken the poAver of the Indian upon the Wabash. The 
clnvalrv of Kentuckv Avas tirst upon its feet. UpAvard 



25 



of live thousand of her citizens were already in ai-nis, 
and the governor of that state invited him to a confer- 
ence in relation to the disposal of the troops which she 
was about raising for the defense of the country. He 
repaired to Frankfort, in pursuance of the invitation, 
and was received there with more than a soldier's wel- 
come. But higher honors were yet in reserve for him. 
The volunteers of Ivcntucky were under the command of 
her ablest citizens. Two thousand of them were ordered 
at once for the relief of Detroit ; but no sooner was their 
destination announced, than they, with one consent, de- 
clared their earnest desire to be placed under the com- 
mand of Hareison. The wishes of the people corres- 
ponded with the sentiments of the soldiery. But the 
laws of Kentucky forbade the appointment of any other 
than one of her own citizens to so exalted a trust. In 
this dilemma, the Executive consulted with the most 
distinguished men of the state, and by their unanimous 
advice he disregarded the prohibition, and conferred 
upon Governor Haerison the brevet rank of a Major 
General in the Kentucky militia, with express authority 
to take the command of her troops who were destined 
for the frontier. 

In the very midst of all these prej^arations, the intelli- 
gence of the dastardly surrender of Hull, and the fall of 
Detroit, descended like a thunderbolt upon the people of 
the West, and spread consternation and dismay through- 
out all their borders. But the re-aj^pearance of the heroic 
governor of Indiana, at the head of the Kentucky levies, 
restored the public confidence at once. The intelligence 
of his appointment to the chief command thrilled like 
the electric spark along the whole line of the frontier. 
The hardy settler on the upper Ohio sprung to his arms; 
the men of " the bloody ground " came up in thousands 
to the standard of their favorite chief; and even the 
4 



26 

dwellers be3^ond our own mountains — the yeomanry of 
Western Pennsylvania — acknowledging "the generous 
impulse, and fired by the common enthusiasm which per- 
vaded the whole "VVest, abandoned their plows in the fur- 
row, and snatched down their rifles from the wall. The 
arrival of General Harrison was welcomed with shouts 
of applause by the volunteers assembled in the state of 
Ohio. The President of the United States had, in the 
meantime, without the knowledge of what had transpired 
in the West, bestowed the chief command on General 
Winchester, an officer Avho had gathered experience and 
distinction in the war of the Revolution, and invested 
General Harrison with the rank of a Brigadier; but the 
judgment of the people reversed the decipion of the Pres- 
ident, and in conformity with the unanimous wishes of 
the army, who were only reconciled to the change by the 
assurance that it would be of brief duration, he raised 
the defender of the frontier at once to the highly honor- 
able, but most arduous trust of Commander-in-Chief of 
the JN^orth-western army. 

But his was no holiday distinction. To him the triple 
duty was assigned, of defending a long line of frontier, 
of retaking Detroit, and of carrying the war into the 
province of Upper Canada. To accomplish all this, he 
had a force at his disposal of about ten thousand men. 
But the}'' were raw and inexperienced, unaccustomed to 
habits of obedience or to the discipline of a camp, enlist- 
ed generally for short terms of service, and governable 
only by the personal influence of their commander. He 
was, moreover, without military stores or munitions of 
war, without magazines, or depots, or fortified posts, and 
thus ill-provided, with these slender and unequal means, 
he was expected to traverse an almost impassable wild- 
erness, and to encounter, in the wily savage and the well- 
trained veteran, a combination of force such as no other 



27 



American general liad perhaps ever met. But he ac- 
complished it all, and to the astonishment and admira- 
tion of the whole countr^^, he acliieved this great work 
in the incredibly short space of some thirteen months, 
driving the invader from our soil, pursuing and over- 
throwing him on his own territory, and planting the 
triumphant banner of his country over the lion standard 
of England upon the field of the Thames. 

In pursuit of this object, he laid down his plan of oper- 
ations on a base line extending from Upper Sandusky to 
Fort Defiance, with a common point of concentration at 
the Rapids of the iSIiami of the Lakes, and distributing 
his army into three divisions, the right of which, consist"^ 
ing of tlie Virginia and Pennsylvania troops, was com- 
manded by himself in person, he directed a simultaneous 
movement upon that point. Ey the last of January, 
through incredible hardships, and after most unexam- 
pled toil, this first important step was accomplished, and 
a general junction effected at the desired place. The 
army then went into winter quarters ; the position was 
strongly fortified, and the name assigned to it of Camp 
Meigs, in honor of the governor of Ohio. It was des- 
tined to become the theatre of one of the most brilliant 
events of the war, and if it has not received that distinction 
which it deserved, it is only because it paled before the 
superior lustre of the events which followed. 

The siege of Fort Meigs is familiar to you all. There 
are some within the hearing of my voice who were there, 
and if there be one amongst them who can think of the 
kindness and the courage of his old commander now, Avith- 
out feeling the blended emotions of pride and affection 
swelling from his heart and dimming his eye, I have yet 
to meet with him. I will not, therefore, fatigue you 
with details. On the 27th of April, the British^General 
Proctor sat down before that position with a large force 



28 

of regulars and Indians, amounting to several thousand 
men, and after opening on it a tremendous lire from 
three several batteries erected for that purpose, sent in a 
flag to demand its surrender, as the only means of sav- 
ing the o-arrison from the tomahawk and scalping-knife. 
The reply of General Harrison was characteristic : " Tell 
General Proctor that this fort will never surrender to him 
on any terms. If it should fall into his hands, it will be 
in such a manner as will do him more honor, and give 
him larger claims upon the gratitude of his government, 
than any capitulation." The batteries of the enemy 
were carried by a w^ell directed and brilliant sortie, and 
the British general, despairing of success, broke up his 
camp, and retreated in confusion and disgrace in the di- 
rection of Maiden. Again, however, did he renew the 
attempt with a still stronger force, but again was he 
obliged to abandon it in despair, and take refuge beyond 
the border. But there w^as no safety for him there. 
The indefatigable Harrison, with his brave frontiers- 
men, incensed at the barbarities of the savage Proctor, 
and thirsting for revenge, was on his bloody trail. A\ ith 
the zealous co-operation of the gallant Perry, who had 
just achieved, with the assistance of Harrison, his me- 
morable victory on the lake, he embarked his troops — 
landed them on the Canadian shore— encamped on the 
ruins of Maiden — and pursued, and overtook, and cap- 
tured his flying enemy on the banks of the Thames. Of 
the details of that action, I have not leisure to speak. 
Its result was not less important than honorable to the 
American arms. It annihilated the British force in 
Upper Canada, dissolved in the blood of Tecumthe the 
alliance with the Indian tribes, and wound up the war 
in a blaze of o-lorv along the whole north-western fron- 
tier. Nor did it fail to be properly appreciated by the 
people. The intelligence of this great victory sped like 



29 

lightning over the whole land. The sound of reioicino- 
was heard on every side. Our cities blazed with bonfires 
and illuminations. From town and tower the bells rano- 
many a merry peal. The i)ath of the conqueror in the 
direction of the seat of government was a career of tri- 
umph. The victory of Harrison was pronounced on the 
floor of Congress to be such an one as "would have se- 
cured to a Roman general, in the best days of the Repub- 
lic, the honors of a triumph;" "the blessings of the 
thousands of women and children rescued from the scalp- 
ing- knife of the ruthless savage of the wilderness, and 
from the still more savage Proctor," were invoked upon 
his head by the governor of our own state, in these very 
halls; and the solemn thanks of the nation were awarded 
to him by the nation's representatives. 

With all these honors clustered round his brow, the 
laureled chief returned to Cincinnati, in January, 1814, 
to resume the command of his appropriate district. If 
the judgment of the public had been consulted, it would 
have assigned to him a higher and more honorable des- 
tination. The western horizon, thanks to his heroic 
eiforts and sacrilices, was now clear, and there was no 
further employment there for such a man as Harrison. 
But the war was still raging in the jSTorth, and much 
and deep solicitude was telt amongst the officers and 
soldiers there, that the chief command, which he had 
so richly earned, should be bestowed on him. The 
gallant Perry, who had served as a volunteer aid by the 
side of Harrison at the battle of the Thames, in a letter 
written to him about that period, says, "You know what 
has been my opinion as to the future commander-in- 
chief of the army. I pride myself not a little in seeing 
my prediction so near being verified; yes, my dear friend, 
I expect to hail you as the chief who is to redeem the 
honor of our arms in the jN'orth." General M'Arthur, 



30 

another of his feHow-soldiers, who had served long under 
his comniand, in another letter of the same date, written 
from Albany, declares, "Yon, sir, stand the highest with 
the militia of this state of any general in the service. 
I am conlident that no man can tight them to so great 
an advantage, and I think tlieir extreme solicitude may 
be the means of calling you to this frontier." The vete- 
ran Shelby, a relic of the Revolution, who had fought in 
some of its bloodiest fields, and had linished his brilliant 
career of service under Harrison himself at the Thames, 
in a letter addressed to President Madison, a short time 
afterward, expresses the same opinion in much stronger 
language. "A rumor," he says, "has reached this state, 
that the commanding general of the Xcjrthern army may 
be removed. The circumstance has induced me to reflect 
on the subject, and give a decided preference to Major 
General Harrisox as a successor. Plaving served a 
compaign with General Harrison, by which I have been 
enabled to form some opinion of his military talents and 
capacity to command, I feel no hesitation in declaring to 
you, that I believe him to be one of the first military 
characters I ever knew ; and in addition to this, he is 
capable of making greater personal exertions than any 
other officer with whom I have ever served. I doubt 
not but it will hereafter be found that the command of 
tho North-western army, and the various duties attached 
to it, has been one of the most arduous and diificult tasks 
ever assigned to any officer in the United States. Yet he 
surmounted them all. Impressed with the conviction 
that General Harrison is fully equal to the command of 
the Northern army, should a change take place in that 
division, I have ventured thus freely to state my opinion 
of ]iim, that he is a consummate general, and would fill 
that station with ability and honor; and if, on the other 
hand, any arrangement should take place in the War 



31 

Department which may produce the resignation of Gen- 
eral HARrtisox, it will be a misfortune which our country 
will have cause to lament. His appointment to the com- 
mand of the Northern army would be highly gratifying 
to the wishes of the Western people." Such was the 
voluntary testimony of a soldier who had fought under 
such officers as Gates, and Marion, and Greene. 

But the Secretary of War had other views. General 
Hareison had offended him, and in return, he was 
destined for inactive service, as the fruit of all his toils. 
With the quick sensibilities of a soldier, he had remon- 
strated with great warmth, against the withdrawal of 
General Hovrard from his command, as an invasion of the 
prerogatives of his rank and station, as the commander 
of a military district, declaring at the same time, that 
"apart from the consideration of his duty to the country, 
lie had no other inducement to remain in the army, and 
that, if those prerogatives were taken from him, he could 
render no important service, and would much rather be 
permitted to retire to private life." Another interference, 
of the like character, with the internal police of his dis- 
trict, in an order issued directly to Major Holmes, one 
of his subordinate officers, in violation of all military 
propriety, joined to the persuasion that he 'svas destined 
to rust in inglorious repose, determined him at once, and 
he threw up his commission, assigning as a reason there- 
for, in a letter of the same date, addressed to the Presi- 
dent himself, that he could hold it no longer with a pro- 
per regard to his own feelings or honor. It Avas accepted 
by the Secretary, in the absence of the President and very 
much to his regret; and thus the nation was deprived of 
the military services of the only general who had then 
shed lustre on its arms. 

But those services were too valuable to be dispensed 
with altogether. The President of the United States 



32 

seized upon the earlies toccasion wliicli presented itself, 
to testify his unabated contidence in the western chief, 
by appointing him, during the same summer, in con- 
junction with Governor Shelby and Greneral Cass, to 
negotiate a treaty with the Indians at Greenville ; and 
in the next following year, he was placed at the head of 
another commission of the like character, arising out of 
the tinal termination of the war Avith Great Britain. In 
both instances he acquitted himself with the same sif>-nal 
credit which had attended all his diplomatic ellbrts in 
that direction. 

His long period of public service in the employment 
of the general government having now ended with the 
return of peace. General Haerison retired to his farm 
on the Ohio, for the purpose of devoting himself to the 
pursuits of private life, and repairing those losses which 
had resulted from his patient and uninterrupted devotion 
to the service of the country. But he was not long -per- 
mitted to enjoy the quiet or repose which he sought. 
The public voice again assigned to him a place in Con- 
gress, where he remained until the year 1819, when he 
was elected to the Senate of the state of Ohio, from which 
he was translated in the year 1824 to a seat in the Senate 
of the United States, as one of the representatives of the 
giant state Avhich had sent him in its infancy to the 
iHiblic councils, in the humble capacity of its lirst terri- 
torial delegate. Of his services there, it would be im- 
possible to discourse at large within the brief space which 
is allowed me. It is enough to say, that they were 
entirely worthy of his ancient fame — his large experi- 
ence, his cultivated understanding, and his remarkable 
readiness and power as a debater, placing him at once 
in a commanding i)osition in tliat august assembly. 

In the latter part of the year 1828, he received from 
Mr. Adams the appointment of Minister Plenipotentiary 



33 

to the Republic of Colombia, from which post he was re- 
called early in the following year, without the opportu- 
nity of distinguishing his mission by any other incident 
than the publication of his celebrated letter to Bolivar. 
On his return, he repaired again to his humble but beau- 
tiful retreat on the Ohio, w^here he continued to enjoy 
that repose which was so necessary to his toil-worn frame, 
until the voice of the nation again summoned him from 
his retirement, to preside over the destinies of this great 
empire. 

The rest of the story is soon told. He obeyed the 
summons: the West surrendered its chief into the arms 
of the Kepublic, and already he sleeps with his fathers, 
and a sorrowing nation weeps over his tomb. He has 
gone down— he, the survivor of so many conflicts, who 
has so often ridden unharmed on the fiery breath of the 
battle field— has gone down— not in the shock of contend- 
ing armies, not amid the thunders of the fight, but 
rather like some ancient oak, which has breasted the 
tempest for a thousand years, and then falls in the still- 
ness and solitude of the forest, with all its branching 
honors about its head. If the hopes and prayers of a 
great people could have averted the impending blow, it 
would not have fallen. But the approaches of the de- 
stroyer had no terrors for him. He had already encoun- 
tered him in a thousand forms. JS'o unseemly strugglcr-- 
no shrinking of the flesh— no darkening of the spirit- 
characterized the final rupture of that tie, which wedded 
the immortal occupant to the frail tenement which it had 
animated and illuminated for nearly seventy years. It 
went down like a tranquil sunset, and as it was shedding 
its last parting rays upon the mansion which it had so 
long inhabited, it flashed for a moment upward, cleared 
the film from the darkening eye, and showed that the 
last thoughts of the patriot were turned upon his country. 



34 

"1 wish you to understand the true principles of this 
government. I wish them carried out. I ask nothing 
more." It was his dying testament to his successor. 
May it be executed in the spirit in which it was deliv- 
ered! 

Having thus accompanied the illustrious man, whose 
loss we so deeply lament, down to the last closing scene 
of a long and eventful life, it only remains to gather 
from the varied picture which that life presents, a few of 
the leading traits which mark the individual, and, added 
to his public services, assist in distinguishing him from 
his compeers, and taking him out of the roll of ordinary 
men. 

Of the character of Greneral Harrison as a military 
man, it will be scarcely necessary to speak. The judg- 
ment of his contemporaries is already before you, and 
there is no appeal but to that august tribunal which will 
pronounce its decision through the voice of impartial his- 
torv. If, however, success is to be regarded as the true 
criterion of ability in this kind, that voice must assign 
to him a high rank amongst our military commanders. 
To him belongs the distinguished merit of being one of 
the very few leaders who, during a long period of service, 
have born the flag of our country in triumph over many 
a field, and never sufi'ered it to bow in dishonor in one. 
It has been publicly remarked of him, by one who was 
a gallant and successful soldier himself, that "he had 
been longer in active service than any other general of- 
ficer — was perhaps oftener in action than any of them, 
and had never sustained a defeat." But if results are 
to be compared with means, how transcendent must his 
merit appear ! He had armies to create, to organize, and 
to supply — of materials which were ever changing, and 
of men who were not habituated to obedience. The men 
whom he commanded were no hireling soldiery, no mer- 



35 

cenaries, whose blood could be measured, and weighed, 
and counted out in drachms. They were men like 
ourselves, of all trades and jDrofessions, who had taken 
up arms in defense of their homes and their firesides, 
their wives and their children. They constituted, more- 
over, the only defense of the frontier, and their lives 
were not to be thrown away on calculation, or the safety 
of that frontier jeoparded by a general action at any 
disadvantage. To General Harrison it was not permit- 
ted, as to Napoleon, to win his victories, or cover him- 
self with laurels, at the rate of ten thousand men a day. 
It was incumbent on him to accommodate himself to 
circumstances, to husband carefully his resources, to be 
on all occasions wary, circumspect and prudent, and to 
adopt that Fabian policy which had conducted us so tri- 
umphantly through the war of the Revolution, and which 
won for him the exalted title of " the Washington of the 
^Vest." In his personal character, too, were most admi- 
rably blended all those elements, which, by their well 
tempered and judicious intermixture, constitute the high 
talent of military command. A happy mixture of cau- 
tion and courage— remarkable coolness and self-posses- 
sion in danger— an inexhaustible fertility of resources- 
great decision of character— high powers of combination, 
and equally high powers of physical endurance— together 
with a kindness of heart and manners, which secured the 
affections of his soldiery to such an extent, that, in the 
language of a historian of the late war, " his men would 
have fought better and suffered more with him, than with 
any other general in America "—were among his leading 
qualities. To these, also, may be added an\xrdent love 
for his profession, and an assiduous devotion to the study 
of military science, which distinguished him even in his 
noviciate in arms. But he could scarcely be considered 
a soldier by profession. It was only when the country 



36 

required a defender, that he was induced to take the 
field, and when the exigency was over he invariably 
returned again to the walks of civil life. 

JN'or were his excellencies less conspicuous there. As 
a statesman, he occupied a high rank in the councils of 
the nation. With a ready eloquence, which was never 
at fault, and a voice of great compass and power, joined 
to a lively imagination, and the rich and varied stores of 
a well cultivated and well regulated mind, he never spoke 
without commanding the attention of his audience, and 
never failed to make an impression wherever he was 
heard ; and he has left behind him some memorials of his 
ability, that are among the finest specimens of intellec- 
tual effort which embellish the register of our congres- 
sional debates. General Haerisox was a natural orator. 
With him it was an original gift. His lip was touched 
with the living fire which art may improve, but no study 
can ever impart. Endowed, like some of the Athenian 
generals, with a ready faculty of communicating his ideas, 
and remarkable powers of language and illustration, his 
thoughts flowed smoothly, and freely, and strongly, and 
without effort or constraint. He was, perhaps, the only 
one of our military commanders who has indulged in 
the practice of oral addresses to his troops ; and if any 
evidence were wanting of the effect of his oratory, it 
might be found in many instances throughout his mili- 
tary career. His suppression of a mutiny amongst the 
Kentucky levies at Fort Wayne, is one of the most re- 
markable. His sudden appearance among the excited 
soldiery — his strong, affectionate, impressive and elo- 
quent appeal to the pride and patriotism of the Kentucky 
troops — and the immediate return of those brave men to 
their dut}^ — compose one of the most striking pictures of 
the effects of popular eloquence which can be found on 
record. 



3; 



Nor was he less distinguished as a writer. His gen- 
eral orders and his dispatches, written as they were 
without premeditation, and frequently upon a drum- 
head, are among the clearest and most forcible which 
have ever emanated from any of our commanders; and 
his occasional papers, among which may be enumerated 
his Report on the Militia — his disquisition on the Abo- 
rigines of the Valley of the Ohio — his Lectures on Ag- 
riculture — and his famous letter to Bolivar — are so 
elegant in diction, so replete Avith classical allusion, and 
so rich in rhetorical beauty, that they would do honor to 
any man in the country. 

But there is more in the character of this distinguish- 
ed man than perhaps history will ever chronicle, or any 
other than the faithful pen of biography will ever por- 
tray. It was a sentiment of his own, that "the success- 
ful warrior is no longer regarded as entitled to the first 
place in the temple of fame, and that to be esteemed em- 
inently great, it is necessary to be eminently good." And 
well may he submit his reputation beyond the grave, 
to that high ordeal which he has himself prescribed. 
It will impair none of his titles to the distinction which 
has been bestowed on him by his countrymen. He will 
pass through it, not merely unharmed, but purified, ex- 
alted and ennobled — surrounded with a bright halo of 
moral beauty, which will throw all his laurels as a war- 
rior into the shade. If he was without fear as a soldier, 
he was without reproach as a citizen. If his high quali- 
ties, and successful career as a general, entitled him to be 
styled "the Washington of the West," the resemblance 
did not end there. His private character, like Wash- 
ington's, was without spot or blemish. Like him, he 
was, in ail his relations, kind, generous and humane, 
with the integrity of a Fabricius, and a "chastity of hon- 
or" which would have been worthy of a Bayard. In 



m 

war, he was a very minister of mercy. He suffered no 
harsh or ignominious punishments to be inflicted on his 
troops. His argument was reason — his chastisement, 
reproof. He pardoned them when they erred, and he 
taught them to be merciful like himself, even in their 
collisions with the enemy. "Let an account of murdered 
innocence be opened in the records of heaven against 
our enemies alone. The American soldier Avill follow 
the example of his government, and the sword of the one 
will not be raised against the fallen and helpless, nor 
the gold of the other be paid for the scalps of a massacred 
enemy." "Kentuckians! Remember the River Raisin; 
but remember it only while the victory is suspended. 
The revenge of a soldier cannot be gratified on a fallen 
enemy." Such was the sublime and eloquent language 
of his addresses to his soldiery after the affair of the 
Massissiniway, and before the battle of the Thames. In 
the first, he was thanking his brave Pennsylvania volun- 
teers for their humanity; in the second, he was stimulat- 
ing the countrymen of those who were slaughtered in 
cold blood at the River Raisin, to a lively but a generous 
recollection of their wrongs. How noble! How exalt- 
ed! How far do such sentiments place him above the 
level of the vulgar hero! And how beautifully did his 
own conduct correspond ! When he passed over into 
Canada, in the month of October, at the head of his con- 
quering legions, he carried with him no other covering 
than a blanket strung at his saddle bow; but instead of 
retaliating the barbarities of the bloody Proctor, it is re- 
lated of him, that he generously parted with even that 
blanket, to relieve the sufferings of a wounded British 
officer, on the very night after the battle of the Thames. 
His magnanimity Avas not less conspicuous than his 
humanity. On the only occasion wherein his integrity 
was ever questioned, after vindicating his honor by an 



39 

action in which the most exemplary damages were 
awarded to him, he bestowed one-third of the amount on 
the orphan children of his fellow-soldiers who had tallen 
in battle, and remitted the remainder to the very indi- 
vidual who had injured him. He was capable even of 
pardoning the assassin who had hired his steel to strike 
at his own life, on the eve of his engagement on the Wa- 
bash. No vindictive feeling ever found a habitation in 
his bosom. Xo stormy passion ever tossed it into 
wrath. It was the dwelling place of none but the o-en- 
tle affections. He treasured up no dark remembrance 
of wrong; he carried with him into his high office no 
feelings of personal unkindness even toward those who 
had warred most bitterly against him ; and the universal 
sorrow which now overspreads this land, furnishes the 
highest assurance that he who knew no hate — no feelino- 
which a man might blush to own — has died, as he de- 
served, without an enemy. 

But who shall tell of the many private virtues, which 
surrounded and sanctified his fire-side? Who shall re- 
late the noble deeds of charity, which difi'used their 
influence around his hospitable home? There is no re- 
cord kept on earth of the sorrows of the humble, and 
none which can disclose the quiet and unpretending 
ministry which relieves the wants of the distressed; but 
well did the unfortunate know the heart which was ever 
alive to the appeals of suffering, and the hand which 
was ever open to the cry of distress. The tales which 
have been told in illustration of this beautiful trait in 
the character of General Haerison, are many of them 
so unlike any thing which we have been accustomed to 
see around us, as to have been regarded by many as 
mere fables. Incredible, however, as they may have 
seemed, some of the most incredible were true. That 
the same may be said of most of them I verily believe, 



40 

and so too will those who remember that one of the very 
last acts of his life was an act of the purest and noblest 
charity toward a ]30or seaman, with whom accident alone 
had made him acquainted. 

If he had any fault, it was his exceeding generosity, 
his unparalleled disinterestedness, his utter disregard 
of self. As Superintendent of Indian Affairs, he declined 
the perquisites which had been usual in that office. For 
his important services on the Wabash, he neither asked 
nor received compensation. As commander-in-chief of 
the army, the deficiency of his pay, arising from his lib- 
eral hospitality and his private charity, was supplied out 
of his own private resources ; and a committee of Con- 
gress in 1817, bore honorable testimony to the fact that 
his private fortune had suffered very materially from 
his devotion to the public interests. For reasons such 
as these, and with opportunities of amassing w^ealth such 
as few men in this country have ever enjoyed — which he 
refused to improve, because he was a public officer — he 
has died poor — not in the gratitude of his countrymen — 
but poor in worldly wealth, and the Republic which so 
lately received him from the arms of his family, has re- 
turned nothing but his ashes to those who looked up to 
him for protection. While the nation mourns, there is 
one — the bereaved — the companion of his early man- 
hood and the witness of his recent fame — who heeds not 
the voice of eulogy or the funeral pomp, but weej^s, as 
did Rachel of old, in solitude by the waters of the Ohio. 
The nation cannot return to her what it received; it can- 
not re-animate the generous and affectionate heart which 
is now cold; but it can throw its sheltering arms over 
the heads of the afflicted; and shall it not, out of its 
abundance, relieve the lone and disconsolate one — the 
partner of him who has served it so long and so well — 
in the hour other darkness and tribulation? If Har- 



41 



RISON had lived, and she had been the relict of another 
who had served and died like him, he would have been 
the first himself to have appealed in her behalf to the 
generous sympathies of the nation. 

But I can dwell no longer upon this attractive theme 
All these high qualities— all these rare endowments— all 
these exalted and ennobling virtues, have perished with 
the manly heart around which they were so richly clus- 
tered. HaerisoxX is no longer among the living- his 
name now belongs to history. He has taken his place 
m the national Pantheon ; he is enrolled in the list of 
the illustrious dead. Another of the remaining links 
which still connect us with the heroic age of the Revolu- 
tion IS sundered. The father and the son— the signer of 
the immortal Declaration, and his still more illustrious 
offspring— now stand side by side. The fame of the 
younger, like that of the elder Harrison, is now one of 
the family jewels of the country. But it lives not merely 
m the records of the past ; it still lingers in the affections 
and memories of the living. And so it does now, and 
so It will continue to linger in the hearts of those who 
hear me. I recognize no exception. I fear not the in- 
trusion of any unkind recollection, any unhallowed or 
irreverent thought, into a scene like this. The father of 
our Republic is no more, and we, his children, are as- 
sembled around the funeral urn, to gaze for the last time 
upon the pallid and death-smitten features of him who 
has but just departed. It is not Harrison the candi- 
date—it is HAERLsoi>f the President— it is the Comman- 
der of our armies— it is the young Ensign of Maumee— 
It IS the soldier of Tippecanoe— it is the conqueror at the 
Thames— and ive, we are Americans, who now do honor 
to his memory. It is a nation which mourns— it is the 
chief of a miglity people who has fallen. The deep, and 
pure, and beautiful fountain of American feeling' has 



42 

welled up at the general shock of this great calarait}', 
and the grand moral spectacle is now exhibited, of a 
whole people in tears. Who would not die so to be la- 
mented, and so to live hereafter? The loss is not his, 
who has been thus embalmed, but oars. The providence 
which has afflicted us has not been unkind to him. He 
has been reserved for the enjoyment of tlie highest honors 
of the Republic, as though it had been merely to secure 
to him a niche in that immortal gallery which belongs to 
our canonized dead; and he has been removed from the 
labors and responsibilities of his high station, with no 
hope disappointed, no confidence impaired, but with the 
first flush of the poj^ular honors — the high, the crowning 
reward of a long life of public service — 3'et lingering 
freshly on his brow. The gift which you have conferred 
on liim, was but the passport to all time. The Republic 
has lost a President — but Harrison is immortal. 

To us, however, who remain, the fruits of this visita- 
tion may not be unwholesome. The calamity which we 
deplore, is one which has been reserved for the present 
generation. The hand of Providence has never fallen 
upon us as a people, thus heavily before. The great and 
good men who have successively been called to preside 
over the affairs of this Republic, have, Avith only two or 
three exceptions, returned to their kindred dust; but the 
death of a President of these United States at any period 
of the administration of his high trust, is a circum- 
stance which has no precedent in our history as a nation. 
It does not, hovrever, become us to murmur or repine. 
We may lament over our national, as it is permitted to 
us over our domestic bereavements, because a reasonable 
grief is not inconsistent with a due submission to the 
will of Him, who blesses while he afflicts ; but it is not 
for us to gainsay the councils of eternity, or to rebel 
against the dispensations of that high and inscrutable 
power, which shapes the destinies of men and nations, 



43 

according to its own sovereign and unquestionable will. 
It becomes us the rather to rejoice, that the blow under 
M^hich our infancy would have reeled, has been graciously 
spared for the noon of our manhood, and the meridian 
of our strength. It deserves to be considered only as 
another manifestation of that superintending care wdiich 
led our ancestors through the perils of the Revolution, 
and has since shone out in the darkest periods of our 
history, like a pillar of fire, to conduct this chosen people 
of God, toward the accomplishment of the high destiny 
for which they have been evidently reserved. If it has 
succeeded in humbling us again into the reverential pos- 
ture which becomes an afflicted j^eople, and gathering us 
once more, like our fathers, around the common altar of 
our country, it has accomplished much already. If it 
shall be instrumental in demonstrating the self-sustain- 
ing powers, and developing another of the latent beau- 
ties of our admirable but experimental system of gov- 
ernment, it will accomplish still more. It has already 
taught the kings of the earth, in the universal swell of 
public sorrow w^hich has heaved the bosom of this nation, 
and drowned even the resentments of party, that the 
prejudices of royalty which surround and fortify their 
thrones, are but as dust in the balance, when compared 
with the unbought and unpurchasable affections of a 
fi'ee people. It will then teach them, as we Aveather in 
safety the dangerous headland of a new succession, under 
untried circumstances, that no bloody convulsion, such 
as often attends the transfer of an iron sceptre, here 
awaits the demise of the popular crown. It will teach 
them, too, that the spirits of the honored and the trusted 
dead, still walk amongst us, to quicken, to animate, to 
counsel, and to direct — and uniting in undying counsel, 
the wisdom of the dead with the affectionate reverence of 
the living, it will bind the crown of immortality about 
the brow of our young Republic. 



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